


Tattoo

by MamaMystique



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, angst everywhere, murder couple feelings, this was supposed to be fun and then the angst just ate it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaMystique/pseuds/MamaMystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Bedelia come to a realization.</p>
<p>Yet another fic I wrote on Tumblr that I'm only getting around to now posting on AO3!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my realization that Gillian’s wrist tattoo wasn’t covered for filming, and how Hannibal might react. And then it became angst. I am so sorry.

“I can hear you breathing, Hannibal.”

Hannibal paused out of instinct, hoping that sudden stillness could conceal his presence. Bedelia stretched her neck on her pillow, nuzzling her nose against the side of the wrist he had been so intently studying. He had always seen a hint of ink underneath the sleeves of her blouses, but he had never had the chance to study the tattoo so closely. In all honesty, it surprised him. Bedelia didn’t seem to him the kind of woman who would permanently mark her skin. The letters were tiny on her slender wrist, something he couldn’t quite make out in the dark. 

When he didn’t move, Bedelia sighed and slid her hand underneath her pillow, discouraging his prying gaze. She was cross with him; she had been all week. They had fought over a prying local police officer, which then led them to fight over Will and the FBI. Bedelia had responded by isolating herself, hiding within the depths of the house and barely speaking to him. She wouldn’t help him research, she wouldn’t go with him to the opera, and she wouldn’t share their bed. And as much as Hannibal didn’t care to admit it, he did miss her. Bedelia knew it too, choosing to punish him by withdrawing. He had gotten attached after what happened with Will, and she was using that to hurt him.

Exhaling slowly, he sat gently at her side. The mattress dipped, and she slid closer to him.

“Hannibal-” she began, annoyance dripping from her tone. Bedelia wasn’t the kind of woman to let things go; she was almost as stubborn as him, holding and extending her anger to boil over a long period of time. 

“Bedelia, please,” he interrupted. “I want to apologize.”

Bedelia fell quiet, her eyes still closed. 

“For what I did,” he continued, resisting the urge to press his hand to her side, to hold her, “I apologize. It was misguided.”

“It was selfish,” she corrected, and her eyes finally opened. Her cold, sharp blue gaze turned to his deep maroon, and she watched him warily. “You’re playing a dangerous game. You’re becoming lost in your own self-congratulation. And you refuse to let me help you.”

“Bedelia-”

“Do you not trust me?”

“No-“

“Am I useless to you?”

With that, Hannibal reached out and held her shoulder, gripping her.

“Bedelia. Do you know what will happen to you if you are caught? They won’t put you in prison. They’ll ship you straight back to the FBI, and I will never see you again.”

Bedelia’s gaze softened. 

“You are all I have now,” he breathed out. “And you’ve shown me that I don’t want to do this alone. I could. It would be easier. But you’ve become essential to me, and I don’t want to lose you somewhere where I could never find you again.”

Her hand slipped out from underneath the pillow, reaching up to hold his cheek. Her fingers stroked his skin, tracing bone. “Hannibal, tell me where I am in the FBI’s most wanted.”

Hannibal hung his head as he accepted her touch. “You’re not.”

“I’m not,” she echoed. “Now. Where are you?”

“Top ten.”

“Now tell me who should be worried about who.”

He made to start a protest, but she silenced him with a finger over his lips.

“You’re worried about what you would do without me,” she spoke softly, “but you haven’t stopped to think what I would do without you.”

“I have money put aside. A new identity. A place to live-”

“By myself. While you sit and rot somewhere where I can’t find you. You’re essential to me too, Hannibal.”

A heavy sigh left his lips as he grasped her wrist, pressing a kiss to the tattooed skin. 

“We will always be in danger Hannibal. But I’d rather be there at your side then be forced to hide alone. No matter where we are, they will always come for you. And then they’ll come for me.”

He smiled down at her. “I won’t let them.”

“Not everything is in your control. As much as you want it to be.” A grin pulled at her cheeks. She pushed herself up on her free hand, bringing her face to his, ducking under his hung head to make sure he was looking at her. “But I promise I’ll put up one hell of a fight. And if they find me before you, they’ll never hear a word from my lips. And you have to promise me that I won’t become a weakness to you.”

“No,” he said darkly, grasping both of her wrists tightly, “you will tell them everything in exchange for your freedom. If that happens. You will not become something for them to tarnish and crack and break.”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m already tarnished, Hannibal.”

“You are not, Bedelia. You are beautiful. And I do trust you. I feel protective of you.”

“Once you told me that, and I didn’t believe you.”

“Believe me now.”

She let her gaze drop, her eyes closing again. “I do. And that angers me more than you could ever know.”

“Why?” He asked, tracing underneath her chin with her finger.

“I’m not supposed to love you, Hannibal. We don’t love. You don’t love me and I don’t love you.” Something in her breath hitched, and though Hannibal couldn’t see it, he felt a tear tumble down her cheek and onto his thumb. 

“I don’t love you Bedelia.” Her breath went quiet. He tipped her chin up to look at him, slowly. That wasn’t supposed to hurt either of them, but somehow he felt wounded saying the words. 

“I know,” she said after a moment, without a waver in her voice. “So stop trying to protect me from something I’m already buried in.” And she meant it. 

As with all of their understandings they came to their conclusion silently. Each forgave the other without more than a soft breath. And as Bedelia curled against him in their now shared-again bed, Hannibal traced his fingers over her wrist, over the small tattoo guarding her pulse. He realized then that she was a part of him, sunken into his being and bleeding into his mind. She was irremovable, permanent. She would leave as much of a scar on him as he had left on her. The thought was terrifying.

Lacing his fingers with hers, he watched her sleep, feeling her instinctively tighten her grip. Briefly, before putting it to the back of his mind as he watched her thrive, watched them conquer together, he wondered who would have to let go first.


End file.
